So It Begins
by Abstract Vision
Summary: The Battle of Helm's Deep through the POV of a Rohirrim solider.
1. So It Begins

We came here, to Helm's Deep, under the command of King Theoden. I watch from the battlement as the army of Saruman's servants draws ever nearer. Their ironclad feet pound the ground in a constant rhythm, striking fear into my heart. I am not the only one, of that I am sure. The enemies draw even closer now; their torches are no longer specks of light on the horizon and the Uruk-Hai themselves are no longer just the blobs supporting those torches. My mouth goes dry at the sight of their army. It is vast, and their numbers are larger than ours, despite the fact that our army perhaps grew twice its size when the Elves came. For that, I am grateful. Lord Aragorn begins to pace up and down the rows of Elves and Men, shouting as he does so.  
  
"A Eruchîn, ú-dano I faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas!"  
  
I can't understand what he's saying, and because of that, I'm assuming he spoke in the tongue of the Elves. By now, it has begun raining, and the pitter-patter of the droplets of water hitting the metal armor fills the former silence. My heart begins pounding, because the Uruk army is now so close that I can see clearly the ugly faces of some of them.  
  
And then, they stop. One climbs up onto a rock that's protruding, and draws his sword, raising it into the air and pointing it towards our army. The Uruk lets out a horrific cry, and on impulse, I glance up at the Elf standing next to me. He glances down at the same moment, and our eyes lock. I'm surprised to see the same fear in his clear blue orbs; the same fear that is probably in my own murky hazel ones. My gaze is torn away from the Elf's eyes as a great swell of noise fills me ears. Some Uruks are banging their armor with their fists, while others are pounding the slightly soggy ground with the blunt end of their spear sticks. I can feel a knot steadily growing larger somewhere in the pit of my stomach.  
  
Suddenly the whistle of an arrow being released interrupts the roaring of the Uruk-Hai. Silences falls as everybody watches one of the front line Uruks fall to the ground, an arrow firmly lodged in his neck.  
  
"Dartho!"  
  
Aragorn shouts, and I'm guessing this means 'hold' in the Elvish tongue. If I am correct, then it is far too late. The roaring of the Uruks starts again, only much more fierce this time. I pull out the dull, rusty sword that was given to me in the armory. Arrows start to fly through the air, seemingly thickening the already dark sky. I gasp in horror as the Elf next to me collapses, an arrow protruding from his chest.  
  
So it begins. 


	2. I Will Die Here

I am alive. That thought, and the pure adrenaline of battle, is what keeps me going. Death is everywhere; I smell it, I hear it, I taste it, I see it. Dead bodies litter the stone as though a second ground, corpses of Men, Elves, and Orcs alike. The coppery taste of blood is fresh in my mouth, flowing freely from a cut in my lip given to me by an Uruk, who would have slain me had it not been for Aragorn's elven companion. I had tried to thank him afterwards, but he was gone in a flash of cream-colored skin and golden hair. I know now there is no place for politeness in war.  
  
The darkness has become heavier as time has passed, and now the only things I can spot in the darkness are gleaming blades and Elves, whose white- blonde hair and pale, almost translucent skin make them shine as brightly as a beacon of hope. My body has naturally adjusted, and I am relying on my other senses. My hearing has become rather sharp, and I can sense the heavy body of an enemy barreling towards me. I turn, and slip my body through the gut of the Uruk-Hai as easily as though it were a warm knife through butter. I watch as the Uruk falls to the ground, it's black, sticky blood pouring out of the fresh wound. I wonder, now, if this makes me a lowly murderer, or a valiant warrior. The thinking is my downfall; I know it will happen before it does happen.  
  
Another Uruk slashes its knife through my side, from my shoulder to my waist. I can feel the blood wetting my tunic, and I glance first at the wound, then to the Uruk, and back again. As my gaze rises once again, I face not the ugly Uruk, but rather, the Elf who was by my side at the beginning of this battle that was soon to become Hell. He is alive, as I am, though I am hardly alive anymore. I fall to my knees, my eyes still on the Elf's face.  
  
"This is no place for you,"  
  
he says, but that is all I have time to hear. I crumble into a heap, and everything becomes white. I close my eyes in pain, and I can hear everything; the blood rushing through my veins, the rapid beating of my heart. I will die here, among the hideous Uruk-Hai, the beautiful Elves, and my own people, the Rohirrim. I will die here; I will never again see my mother's face, my father's twinkling eyes, nor will I hear the laughter of my child sister. I manage to open my eyes once more, and see the Elf, still hovering above me. I close my eyes, once again, for the last time.  
  
I will die here. 


End file.
